In the Dust
by Serengeti Lioness
Summary: Oneshot. A retelling of TLK stampede with an insight into Simba's feeling and thoughts. Rated T to be safe.


**Basically, this is a partial retelling of the stampede and the scene when Simba mourns for Mufasa. Before and when Scar knocks Zazu unconscious were cut from this oneshot. And one last thing, this is more graphic than the Disney version of a no blood G-rating. Oh, and the bold italics are memories.**

**Disclaimer: Pretty much every bit of this is copyrighted to Disney.**

In the Dust

A deep rumble reverberated through the cracked and foreboding rocky walls of the once deserted canyon. A massive herd of wildebeest stampeded in the tight uncomfortable space, each not knowing the reason behind this uproar. Dust and sediment rose in the air to form an intimidating cloud of dry earth. With each stamp of a hoof, each time the crazed beasts trampled over the packed, dusty ground, the clattering echoed and mingled with the padding of an unnoticed lion figure. The large lion's claws skidded on the rocky surface as he abruptly halted and stood looking frantically through thin bony legs and backsides laden with perspiration. Suddenly he was rammed headfirst by a sprinting wildebeest, and the large lion let out a cry and fell to the ground.

Then with a sickening crack of splintering wood, the small golden form of a frightened cub was ejected in the air like a catapult. As a young terrified scream filtered through his ears, the adult lion's fiery eyes were quickly adverted, and he tensed his muscular body. In one smooth movement, his defined leg muscles launched the golden lion into the air, majestic mane moving with the stuffy, grainy breeze. He caught the cub, his son, gently yet firmly, latched between his teeth. The lion known as the royal king Mufasa landed on his padded paws unfazed.

Prince Simba, held dangling by his backside, felt a new sense of relief rush through his body. His fear materialized with his rescue and he looked upward to see the flowing side of Mufasa's crimson mane. The king's legs began moving once more, dodging in between wildebeests as they unpredictably sprinted and turned. Above on a rocky outcropping, the king's envious brother slinked menacingly in the shadows as his glinting green eyes followed their path. The probability of the sinister plan's success was beginning to decline with each of his brother's steps toward safety. Scar gritted his teeth in frustration, but then grinned evilly and toothily with the next event.

Mufasa desperately glanced toward the towering cliff of the gorge's stonewall with Simba still clenched in his broad jaw. The king became more hopeful as he spotted a nearby ledge, but his diverted attention caused the lion to accidentally collide with a panicked wildebeest. He roared in pain and surprise, disguising Simba's scream of fear as the cub went flying through the arid air.

The golden prince rolled as he landed on the rocky bed of the gorge, thundering hooves of the animals around him. Simba rose to his paws in fear as the giant wildebeests stampeded and the vibrations almost caused him to stumble. He looked around frantically for a savior, while blindly dodging the crushing hooves of the wildebeests. Then from behind, the golden king hurriedly leapt into the fray and scooped his son up once more.

Mufasa turned with a determined glint in his eyes, and ran to the ledge he had previously identified as a safe spot. Sweat rolled off him as he dodged the wildebeests, but this time he studied the movements of the herd more carefully. Making a sharp angular turn around a sprinting wildebeest and then curving his path in a wide arch, Mufasa spotted an opening in the stampede. He quickly dodged another blow and hurried to the temporarily clear gap. The powerful lion leaped and grasped the edge of the ledge with his razor sharp claws sliding along the surface and leaving white scrape marks. Mufasa released Simba and a brief moment of triumph was felt between father and son as they celebrated their victory. The feeling was short lived however, as even though the prince's safety was secured, the king's wasn't. A charging wildebeest rammed into Mufasa's side and the lion roared and went sprawling back into the chaos.

"DAD!" yelled Simba horrified. His reddish-brown eyes scanned the masses of wildebeests for any sign of his father in the thundering black and brown sea. His young heart beat rapidly as Simba studied the ground through the thick dust for any glint of red or glimmer of gold. Nothing was presenting itself, but the cub stayed hopeful. His father was the king. Nothing would happen to his dad.

Then with a pained roar, Mufasa gave a mighty leap and gripped the gravel side of the gorge wall. Simba's heart leapt as his father began the slow and painstakingly long climb up the steep cliff. Sure of his father's success, the golden cub turned and began his ascend also to meet him at the top. Jumping over large sandstone rocks and stumbling, Simba held onto the glimmers of hope and assurance. With Mufasa now hidden from sight, Simba didn't witness the sinister events that would change his life forever.

Operating of pure adrenaline, Mufasa's front claws dug into the cliffside with a blood-curdling cracking of rock and cartilage. Pebbles and small rocks fell and bounced off the wall with quiet _click clacks _compared to the thundering of the stampede below. Once his back paw slipped and he almost lost his grip, as there was hardly any traction with his dull back claws at all. As Mufasa ascended bruised and battered, his mind began to realize the possibility of his death, but his strong will pushed it aside as he determinedly eyed the top edge. He had a son, a mate, and a pride that needed him, loved him, and cared about him. There was no way he was giving up!

And then behold at the top of the cliff appeared a dark bony form of a lion, the wind at surface level blowing his black, flat mane. Mufasa's face lit up with joy, but it appeared as more of a pained expression from exhaustion. What he didn't know was that his blessing was a curse. "Scar!" Mufasa's claws began to slide on the steep slope. "Brother! Help me!" Mufasa pleaded through gritted teeth. His front claws were now dull and he was sliding, as the sharp tips had broken during his painstaking climb. Scar sat there near the edge motionless and looked down at Mufasa disdainfully. Mufasa's face fell slightly from this lack of positive reaction. In one sudden and unexpected movement, Scar lunged forward and dug his dagger-like claws into Mufasa's paws with a squelching and cracking sound of claw into bone and flesh. The king roared in agony, and his expression turned from shock to horror at the realization of his brother's intentions. Scar grinned evilly and leaned his thin face into his brother's.

"_Long…live…the…king_," Scar said slowly into the king's ear, savoring the words. Then he pulled his now bloodstained black claws from Mufasa's paws and the king freefell.

Simba at the top of the gorge watched horrified at Mufasa thrashed around in the empty dry air. He seemed to fall in slow motion to the cub, as if time had slowed down so it could carve the image permanently into Simba's mind. The lion he had loved so much, his role model, his hero, his dad, falling. That majestic crimson mane ruffling in the great speed of the wind, the bruised golden body with various fresh scrapes and cuts, and his bloody paws violently grasping for a hold on something, anything. The prince's mouth dropped disbelieving and he struggled for a word that could possibly express all the painful emotions he was experiencing.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!" Simba's cries mingled and echoed with his dad's last scream and final breath. Mufasa swiped at the air one last time and hit the ground with a sickening thud and crunch that was muffled from the thundering of hooves.

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Sunset had fallen in the Pridelands and the orange glow cast itself over the land, but in the gorge everything was gray. The deepness of the canyon was normally shadowed at this time, but on this day, all was dusty and still. The thick clouds of sediment hung in the air and a somber silence had fallen.

Young Simba stumbled onto the bottom of the gorge with a feeling of dread and glanced at the depressing scenery around him. What was once baked tan walls that reflected the searing heat of the sunlight now bore down upon him coldly and cruelly. The packed earth beneath the cub's paws was covered with a layer of freshly fallen dust that resembled ashes in the dull lighting. Visibility was poor and Simba coughed from the remaining grainy fog in the air.

"Dad!" Simba called out in hopes of receiving a response. The word reverberated throughout the canyon walls, and he heard his echoed voice again before the noise died down. His ears and eyes remained keen, listening and watching for any movement whatsoever. But nothing presented itself in the foreboding gray and brown gorge. Simba's face fell and he began to walk a step when he heard a sound. The cub's black-rimmed ears perked up instantly.

"Dad?" he called out quietly and hopefully, craning his neck to get a better look at the direction the sound had originated. Simba was startled when heard a beating of hooves. A lone stray wildebeest appeared from the distance and cantered around Simba, giving no regards to the golden cub at all. As the last echoes of hooves died away, Simba's face fell and ears pinned back once he realized that it was only false hope. Glancing sadly up, that's when the prince saw him.

A dead tree that was broken in half, hanging only by a piece of rough bark, hung over the motionless lion like an archway. Simba silently gasped and his mouth dropped from disbelief. That was _his _tree, the one he had desperately clung to.The cub gingerly padded up to the golden lion with a feeling of sadness growing within his very soul. Mufasa was lying on his side, bruised and battered. The bloody cuts and scratches that decorated his dusty fur were dried, and deep incisions scarred each paw, blood still seeping slightly from the punctures. Mufasa's whiskers were bent oddly and his long flowing mane was somewhat dusty, ruffled and sticking out in split ends.

"Dad?" Simba asked hopefully as he tilted his head and approached his father. His ears perked up, waiting, expecting, praying. The muscular lion gave no hint of a response, his face lying motionless on its side with a small trail of dried blood visible from his nose. Simba felt tears welling up in his eyes, and he approached his father's broad jaw gingerly. **_Dad?_**

"Dad, come on," Simba asked sadly and weakly. The prince rubbed against Mufasa's cheek, hoping to stimulate the king to rise, but his head merely rolled back into its former place. Once again, Simba received no response, and a sense of loneliness began to grow within him. **_Hmm?_**

"You gotta get up," Simba pleaded, his voice beginning to crack. He placed his small forepaws on Mufasa's golden cheeks and pushed urgently. "We gotta go home." The cub then tugged at the closest ear available and the prine fell back down with a silent _thump_. _No, no, it's not true! _Simba looked stricken as his father's head rolled back into its motionless place once again. **_We're pals, right? Right._**

The prince gasped and abandoned his lifeless father, running off a short distance away. He looked around frantically for another creature that could possibly aid him. The cub cried in desperation, "HEEEEEEEELP!" The cold stone sides of the gorge echoed his voice, making his cries replay over and over again. Simba sniffed and choked out melancholy, "Somebody…anybody…help." His last word was barely above a whisper. Hot tears stung at the creases of Simba's eyes, and he let them roll down his cheeks freely, leaving a salty moist trail. Simba sniffed again and glanced back at Mufasa's still body.

He sobbed and trudged somberly back to his lifeless father's body. Mufasa looked so peaceful, lying there. When Simba imagined death, he thought of elderly lions and lionesses, not young, vibrant, and muscular kings or fathers. The cub was in silent denial of Mufasa's state of life. The king couldn't truly have passed away, but somehow he had. _No, Dad, no, it can't be..._Simba shut his eyes tightly and more tears leaked from his sad eyes. The uncaring walls of the rocky gorge bore down upon him and seemed to mock his sadness. The atmosphere retained the feeling of a depressing funeral. And it was. **_And we'll always be together,_** **_right?_**

The prince's tiny body shook with emotion and Simba felt so alone and so afraid. He felt like withdrawing into a warm embrace or snuggle from a comforting presence, but there seemed to be none available. The cub sighed out a sobbed and his emotion led him to his father's lifeless paw. Seeing the bloody marks on the back, he sobbed again and wriggled himself underneath the massive paw pad. The king still felt warm, but was rapidly cooling. The hard truth finally sunk into Simba and settled in his stomach like a stone of painful emotions. _You said you'd always be there…_He let a sniff escape him as a tear slid down his cheek, and he snuggled up to his father for the last time in his life.

In the poor visibility, a shadow crept, ready to infect his nephew's mind with lies and deceit.


End file.
